The Flying Freight Train
by Ronin201
Summary: One of the most senior pilots and one of the youngest pilots in the 332nd Bomb Squadron fly their first combat mission over Belka when the tide turns and the Osean Air Force decides to bring in one of its big guns: the B-52 Stratofortress. Short story of 2-3 parts with OCs. The owners of content within retain their respective rights.
1. Part 1

**_A/N: This was inspired by seeing By Dawn's Early Light (1990), a major part of which involves a B-52 crew. Ace Combat fanfiction doesn't seem to focus much on bomber crews, so despite the fact I try to focus on my major stories I wanted to do this. This will have 2-3 parts, so it isn't a oneshot but it isn't a large, multi-chapter story. Jan's inclusion was to give Ace Combat Assault Horizon a bit more love and because I can see Jan being the daughter of a bomber pilot, and that leading to her want to be a bomber pilot herself (yes we all know she is really from the United States but I don't fancy doing Ace Combat in the real world)._**

_The Flying Freight Train (Part 1)_

_April 3, 1995_

_Bullock AFB, Northwest Osea_

Lieutenant Colonel Martin Rehl gotten up early that morning; it wasn't like he could sleep anyways. The commanding officer of the 332nd Bomber Squadron, the Vengeful Spirits, was about to take his men into combat for the first time today. On the other side of the country, war was raging as the Belkan military poured into Sapin, Ustio, and Eastern Osea. Surprisingly enough, however, the 332nd and its parent wing, the 13th Bomb Wing, were kept out of the action and instead kept on doing the usual of preparing for war that would never come with Yuktobania. But a few days ago it was decided that the time had come for the Osean bomber force to enter the fray. The Vengeful Sprits would be flying at sunset.

Martin had spent those few days getting the squadron ready. He not only coordinated with department heads but also flight leads, crews (both aircraft and ground) and the intelligence folks. He'd even gone to several of these people to make sure they had what they needed. Despite giving the Osean Air Force 18 years of his life, he had never once actually led anyone into real combat, much less seen it. His father had fought in the Great World War of 1940-1946 aboard a B-17, and his older brother had taken a B-52D over the country of Songola. He'd earned his slot as a B-52 pilot in 1977, too late to see any major combat.

He looked at himself in the mirror as he made sure all the shaving cream had been washed away by his shower and that there was no sign of facial hair left except his moustache, Despite the end of March, he'd been told by a few junior pilots that it gave him the look of a cowboy. So until the wing commander told him off with it, it would stay. He dried the moustache and left the bathroom to get dressed. He noted that the bed was now empty, something that made his brows furrow. As he expected and somewhat hoped against, Marceline Rehl was downstairs in the kitchen, two cups of coffee next to her on the counter.

"Marcie, why are you up so early?" He asked nonetheless.

"Martin, we've been married 15 years. Do you honestly expect me to just sleep in when you're about to start flying combat missions?" The blonde woman said. He tried to reason, but she silenced him with a kiss.

"Listen, Dear, I'm not going to drag this out. I'm used to the Air Force life and by now if it'd gotten to me I would've left you much sooner than right now. I made you some coffee to wake you up. I'd say eat something here, but I'm willing to guess you have a very full day ahead that begins soon." The woman of 42 told him. He nodded gratefully and reached for the untouched mug.

"Where's Janice?" he asked after he took a long gulp.

"Jan is outside. She wanted to tell her dad goodbye." She said. Martin nodded and glanced towards the door. Through the window he saw Janice Rehl's short tuft of blonde hair, not much unlike her mother's color.

"As much as I shouldn't, I was planning on stopping by one of the fast-food joints near the squadron building." He added as he drank more of the dark liquid. He set the mug down and checked his pockets to make sure he had his wallet and keys. Marcie helped him adjust his peaked cap before she kissed him once more.

"Good luck, Martin Rehl. I love you very much." She said, grasping his hands.

"And I love you just as much, Marceline." He replied.

They exchanged one last kiss goodbye before Martin walked outside to say goodbye to his daughter and only child: Janice Rehl.

"Good morning, Jan." he said, sitting in the chair next to her.

"Morning Dad." She smiled, surprisingly calm for a girl whose dad was about to fly into battle.

Janice was now 14, and she'd long before begun to understand more complex things about the world, which made things a bit tougher and easier at the same time. As much as Martin had wanted a boy before her birth, Janice had made him a proud, proud father. She was a tough girl through and through, able to keep up with the neighborhood boys. Probably the thing that made him proudest was her adamant want to become a bomber pilot like him. She always liked to try and hang around the pilots and crew under him when she could, learning their language and ways.

"When do you and the others step, Dad?" she asked. He smiled.

"I'm not sure; they're supposed to give that to me today when they're sure we have the right information and that the fighters can escort us in."

"Do you know who you're going to fly with?" Jan went on.

"I'm planning on having one of our junior pilots along in the co-pilot's seat. You know Ozark, right?"

"Big guy with strawberry blonde hair?"

"That's him."

Jan looked down at her feet, as if searching for something else to say.

"I should be back in time for breakfast tomorrow." Martin assured. He wanted to add how calm she seemed, but held back at first. No need to set off an emotional bomb.

"Hey Dad, you won't get shot down, right?" She said. He'd thought too soon…

"I'll give it all I've got, Sweetheart." He almost choked out. She looked at him.

"I love you, Dad. Good luck." She said. He could tell her voice was cracking a little. He wrapped his arms around her and gave her a hug.

"I love you too, Jan. Don't worry, your Dad will be home soon and when he gets back, we'll have a nice, big breakfast together. Sound good?" He proposed.

"Promise?" She asked.

"Spread my wings and hope to fly." He said, repeating the little incantation she'd used as a little girl.

With goodbyes said, Martin's family watched as he walked to the Mercedes in the driveway. He gave them one last smile before he backed out. Marceline smiled and waved, while Janice stood up straight and saluted the best she good.

Martin returned her salute and turned around to pull out of the driveway…

* * *

2nd Lieutenant Toby "Ozark" Dawmire felt down already as he left the gate of Bullock in his ageing Ford F-150. Before he started fighting the real war from the co-pilot seat of a B-52, he had some things to take care of. Toby had barely been in active duty a year at this point, grabbing a scholarship into Air Force ROTC and having to choose bombers over smaller jets when the time for pilot slots came. He didn't hate it, not one bit; he could have worse jobs like transport or AWACS co-pilot. He'd also come to like the Stratofortress in all its big, ugly, long, ground-pounding glory. If nothing else, it was downright righteous when you took off with the engines roaring at full power.

Of course there was also the very, very grim side to being aboard that plane. Even when he'd been growing up, Toby had never paid the concept of nuclear war much attention unless it was mentioned to him or in the news. He'd helped his dad dig a shelter at their house, but he'd never seen a nuke. That'd changed when he'd began training how to deliver the terrible weapon from the B-52, though much to his relief there was little to indicate that he'd be dropping nuclear weapons at any point in this war.

The normally quiet but friendly young officer felt particularly gloomy today, and not because he was on the warpath. He was all-too-ready for that, and more than happy to bust a few Belkan heads. The gloom was the part of his personal life. In the nearby town of Sierra Forks, his hometown nonetheless, a certain woman was about to start her own job soon, teaching fourth grade. Her name was Violet Trevorson. Soon she might be his wife, considering about a month ago they'd made love in a drunken fervor, with the nearest protection sitting on a gas station condom rack a mile from her place.

Toby had made a very powerful mistake, but he wasn't about to run from it. Besides, his family would make sure of it, whether it took some advice and consolation or shotguns and coercion. His younger sister, Alicia, also wanted to see him off before he had to report in at nine that morning. She didn't know about his little lovechild or even about him and Violet. As nosy and stubborn a girl as she could be, she respected her family's personal lives. Consequently, he planned to bring it to light for her in the hopes she would help him. Heaven help him through whatever reaction she would have.

The old truck grumbled across town towards the sole elementary school. At 6:50 in the morning, very few souls inhabited the place. Toby pulled into the one of the visitor parking spots and got out, putting on his peaked cap. He was in his flight suit and had his pager close at hands in case things got pushed up. In through the front doors the officer went.

"May I help you, sir?" The woman at the front desk asked immediately. Toby looked towards her, almost forgotten that she was there, and cleared his throat.

"Is Miss Trevorson here?" He asked, aware of her questioning look regarding why an OAF officer was here at this time.

"I believe she is; may I see some ID?" She asked. He took out his wallet and surrendered his driver's license in exchange for a visitor's pass.

Violet's classroom, Room 23, lay in the hall to the right of the main office. Toby kneaded the top of his cap as he approached the door, glancing at the name plate on it, made all the more cheery by the smiling sun and butterflies around her handwritten name. It felt like centuries since he'd been around teachers who did THAT. He almost felt like he was going to scare her half to death if he just came in, so he knocked first.

"Yes?" a voice asked hesitantly at the knocking.

"Violet, it's me, Toby." He said.

"Toby? Please, come in. I was actually hoping to talk to you soon."

A woman with short, auburn hair in what he'd coined the "teacher's haircut". There was never any set style, but just by looking at the way it was done up you could tell they were a teacher because you'd seen your teachers wear it. Her hair, not tied by anything, fell to her shoulders and framed her face and green eyes. Her figure was covered in a blouse and skirt that were the same color as her name. She was sitting at her desk, looking at him as he entered.

"Why did you knock? It's not like I'd be naked in my classroom or something." She said. _And it's not like I'd mind you seeing me naked_ the dirty part of her mind added just to make things awkward.

"Eh, manners." He said quickly.

"Would you like to sit down?" She asked, looking around for a seat that wasn't made for younger children.

"I'll stand." Toby said with a small smile. She did the same.

"So, what brings you here?" Violet asked.

"Today we start combat operations, and I wanted to make sure you were okay before I went off. I know it's been a little time since…you know…" He said, still not comfortable accurately describing what happened. She bit her lower lip and sighed.

"I'm going to have to start considering maternity leave, Toby. Sooner or later people will notice and I can't deal with the problems of pregnancy while teaching." She said quietly. He nodded.

"At the very least I'll be nearby at the base between sorties. If you need anything please come right to me, or even my family. I'll make sure they won't hurt you." He said with a flicker of a smile. The young pilot put an arm around her.

"I won't leave you alone on this, I'm not like that. I wanna take care of you." He said, reaching for one of her hands.

Thank you, Toby…I know you will…" she said with a cracking voice.

"We're both idiots, aren't we? Give us a little booze, and little flirting, and bam, now we're probably going to end up as Mr. and Mrs. Dawmire with a child to boot." She said, trying to find some dry humor in the grim reality.

"I can't ask for a more perfect bride, though." Toby added.

They stayed in silence for an unknown length of time. Oh how badly they wished they could stay like that, but Toby had other business and Violet had her job.

"I'll call you when I land." He assured as he stood up. She nodded and wrung her hands pensively, before wrapping him in a hug and burying her face in his chest.

"Don't you dare leave this child fatherless, Toby." She said.

"I won't, I promise." He whispered in consolation. He bit his lower lip in hesitation, and then relaxed.

"I love you, Violet Trevorson." He said.

"I love you too, Toby Dawmire." She said back.

Toby begrudgingly left her to teach that morning, hoping he would be home by early tomorrow morning. He knew he was pushing the rules a little, going off base during a time of war, but he had nothing to hide. If the CIA or whoever wanted to piss away time and money to find out he was simply trying to deal with personal problems, they could be his guest. His sister, Alicia, had agreed to meet him at Star Burger for breakfast before he took off. Toby had decided that if he was gonna go down over Belka, he wanted to have some of his favorite drive-in's food in him. As he pulled into the drive-in's lot, he saw Alicia's 1990 Isuzu Amigo parked in one of the farther spots and his lanky little sister sitting in the front passenger seat, windows down.

"Order your food yet, Sis?" He asked as the truck went silent again.

"Was waiting for you, Toby." She replied with a smile.

Toby got out and hugged her. The redheaded young woman of 21 squeezed him as tightly as usual and opened the door.

"You're late, Toby. What kept yah?" She asked.

"I'll tell you when the food's arrived." He said with a bit of a sad smile. It didn't work for a minute.

"Now Toby, I don't lie to you; don't you go lyin to me." She said. He sighed.

"Sis, I'd rather talk about it after I've eaten a little. I've got a big day about to start, I need food." He insisted. She was about to say something else, but held back on her stubborn streak.

The two ordered breakfast sandwiches and orange juice to eat, and Toby kept Alicia distracted by talking about her own life. But all the time she was carefully navigating towards the issue of why he was late.

"Something's on your mind, Toby. I know it and I know you're just trying to steer away from the subject." She said as she took her sandwich out of its bag. Toby sighed as he looked at his own, taking a healthy bite from it before he said anything.

"Part of it's because I'm about to go flying my first combat mission, but you know Violet Trevorson, right?" He said. She nodded.

"She teaches at the elementary school, right?"

"Yeah, her."

"Are you seeing her?" Alicia asked, looking like she was about to assume she wouldn't approve. Toby leaned against his truck and took another bite of food.

"Yeah…We uh, we uh…had sex without protection roughly a month ago. She's pregnant…" He admitted.

Alicia was in the process of biting into her sandwich when he said that, which caused her to drop the chunk back onto the wrapper.

"Does mom or dad know about this?" She choked out. He shook his head.

"What happened Toby? I thought you were adamant on saving that til you were married!" She said, more shocked than angered. Another shrug on Toby's end.

"We were stupid, we were drunk, and when she brushed up against me we started feeling each other up and th-"

"Don't give me the details, Toby." Alicia interrupted, pinching the bridge of her nose as she tried to block the images of her brother having sex. She put down her sandwich and looked at Toby.

"Why did you not tell me? Or Mom or Dad? Or Grandma? Or anybody?" She asked. Toby bit his lower lip and sighed.

"Because I was frightened, okay? What was I supposed to do if you all went and ran her out of my life because you jumped to conclusions, dammit." He said angrily. The blonde's mouth hung open before her eyes emanated pure fury.

"I oughta slap you for saying that, Toby Harold Dawmire!" Alicia nearly roared. She even reared back a hand to do so, but stopped.

"I'm your damned sister! You think I'd run her out of your life because you accidentally got her pregnant?!" She said harshly.

"Not to sound like a dick, Alicia, but you do have a tendency to be very…stubborn, regarding the decisions your family members make." He said honestly. She seemed ready to say something, but held back a moment.

"Look that's not important, what is, is that you gotta promise me that if I go dow-"

Alicia punched his chest as hard as she could. For a skinny little small-town girl, she could pack a wallop. He grunted but did not move.

"No, don't you dare fucking say that! Don't you ever say that, ever!" She cried, her voice cracking. She glared at him through teary eyes.

"Never say that again! You're coming back!" Alicia instructed as she teetered on the brink of sobs. Toby stood there, arms at his sides as she nearly squeezed the life out of him.

"Don't worry about it. I'll make sure Violet's safe, but you're coming home and THAT'S FINAL." She declared.

Toby looked down at her for a long time, and then nodded quietly.

"Okay Alicia, I've gotta go. I need to report for the day in less than an hour." He said softly.

"I love you, big brother." Was all she sniffled out.

"And I love you, little sister." He replied with a smile.

Toby left soon after to return to Bullock. He decided he'd finish his sandwich back on the base…

* * *

"Room, attention!"

The crews all stood up as Martin came walking into the squadron's main briefing room. The 58 other crewmen waited for him to reach the XO, Major Carl Bullard, and take over.

"Be seated, everyone." He ordered as the Major left the stage. Martin waited until the room settled down and the lights dimmed.

"Good afternoon everyone, glad to see you all look ready to fight. As you know, we're finally being tasked to conduct raids against Belka. Our first raid is scheduled to be flown tonight against two separate targets; we step at dusk aka soon. Each target will be attacked by four BUFFs; the specifics of each flight's sortie will be detailed in their own briefings. At the moment the lines have stabilized in all areas and the BAF has been prevented from going much further than the frontlines. This means we won't run the risk of happening upon BAF patrols until we're near the border. Now, you all know what they can hurl up at us. The biggest threat from the ground will be their SA-10s. But remember, just because we fly one of the biggest jets in the Osean Air Force, doesn't mean we're gonna roll over and die like some bunch of pussies!"

Several cheers and hoots came from the small crowd of pilots. Toby himself let out a "BUFFs!" before Martin held up a hand.

"General Norton B. Turgidson, the man who made the B-52 an integral part of Osea's power projection, once said "no matter how advanced anything else, whether it be missiles or aircraft or systems, becomes, we will always need an aircraft that fits the description of bomber. We will always need an aircraft that is capable of delivering unmatched attack power and acting as one of the pieces in our nuclear deterrent. Nothing can ever beat a bomber's abilities, NOTHING." Well today we still prove that true, and the design General Turgidson pushed is still the tool of that idea." He iterated. The room got a little more sober.

"Good luck to you all. Trust your instincts, your training, your machine and your support elements. Remember were all going into this together. Your flight assignment has been provided with your maps. You'll join your flight lead and follow them to the proper briefing room. Are there any questions before we break up for individual flight briefs?" He asked. No hands came up, either because no one had anything to say…or no one wanted to ask anything. He nodded.

"Very well then…" Martin said.

"Room, attention!" Bullard called.

Toby stood up straight, towering above the others in his squadron. Beforehand he'd noted he was flying in the Lieutenant Colonel's flight. He walked towards the man, and Martin nodded to the young co-pilot.

"Hello Ozark, I'm changing my personal aircraft to yours and taking Captain Ebbard's place; were you informed of that prior?" the CO of the 332nd asked. Toby's eyes widened a little as he shook his head.

"No sir, I was not." He admitted.

"Well now you are." Martin said as he jerked his head towards a nearby door.

Twelve Stratofortress crewman gathered in a much smaller briefing room, where Martin once again took the helm. He cleared his throat and glanced at a recon picture blown up by the projector. The intel folks had already autographed it with a few notes and clarifications on objects and things of value.

"Our flight of four is being tasked with attacking this rail yard at Stagvogel. It serves as a major supply depot for the Belkan invasion force, but its sheer size and our recent change to the offensive has meant that it has not been properly dealt with. Our objective is simple and obvious: to plow it into the dust. We'll be carrying a full load of 51 M117 bombs each for this mission, and trust me when I say we'll need every bomb to crush this place." He began. The man glanced at some of the notes and switched slides.

"The target is located 62 miles east of the Osea-Belka border, on the southern edge of the town it's in. The trains arrive here before offloading supplies onto smaller units such as trucks and helicopters. Intel has confirmed that this is strictly a military facility and that no trains of civilian affiliation have been spotted here. Nonetheless, we will be making our bombing runs on a southwest-northwest axis ONLY to avoid any damage to the city itself. No other attack axis will be allowed unless cleared prior." He went on, knowing there would be those with mixed feelings about the possibility of civilians being caught in the fight.

"Our approach to the target will be a very lengthy one, but as I mentioned earlier the threats will not start to pop up until closer in. We will be penetrating Belkan airspace here…"

Martin turned towards a map of Belka and pointed to the northern tip of the Ivera mountain range.

"This is where the terrain is roughest, and thus ground-based air defenses will be lightest. Our IP will be here, 12 miles before the target. We'll make our runs in twos with a three-mile diagonal separation between each aircraft pair, and a ten-mile separation between the two elements in the flight. The round trip will take roughly 8-9 hours, which means we'll be taking on gas before we press." He outlined, tracing the proposed path. He walked back to the podium.

"In addition to our AWACS, call sign Clairvoyant, we'll be provided two KC-135s to top off from before we cross the border. Our escort in will be two EF-111s to provide SEAD and eight F-15s on CAP, call signs Mongoose and Condor, respectively. Our biggest threat is looking to be the MiG-31 Foxhound interceptor, possibly the MiG-21 Fishbed too. Almost all of Belka's Fulcrum, Phantom, and Mirage units are dedicated to the frontlines. Our F-15s have orders to stay as close to us as they can so we can breathe easier." He assured. Nonetheless Toby raised a hand.

"What about the defenses around the rail yard itself, sir?" He asked.

"I've been told that before we go in, the defenses will be neutralized by Wild Weasel aircraft." Martin answered. He looked at the rest of the crew.

"If you are shot down, don't forget what we've covered in the E and E briefs. Nothing has changed from those procedures." The man added.

"Any further questions?" He asked. More silence. Like it or not, they were ready.

With their time to step nearly upon them, the members of Sprit 1 adjourned to the lockers to get their flight gear. They, like all Osean bomber pilots, carried less gear than the pilot of an F-15 or A-10, but still had some of the basics such as oxygen equipment, survival gear and handguns. Toby's sidearm would be a black Smith and Wesson 4506, while Martin opted for a Model 15 revolver from the same manufacturer. Each member of the crews also had his own dark gray HGU-26P flight helmet, most with some little bit of personalization on them. Toby had taken the liberty of having the squadron logo and his call sign on the forehead of his helmet whereas most of the other crew had one or the other.

"Okay Ozark, you ready?" Martin asked as they led the crew of Spirit 1-1 towards the building's exit.

"Fucking A sir, fucking A." Toby blurted without thought. He caught himself in seconds.

"Sorry sir, I'm just wound up tighter than the screws on a boat." He said, admonished.

"No need son, just don't go cussing like a sailor on me." Martin said as he pushed open the door.

Outside the door were four Osean Air Force Ford Econoline vans, each capable of hauling ten guys. Sprit 1-1's crew and that of Spirit 1-2 piled into one while Spirits 1-3 and 1-4 took the other. Toby flipped through a few of his maps as the dark blue van transported the two crews from the squadron building to the waiting B-52H Stratofortress bombers alongside two more of its kind. He was particularly interested in the terrain that they would be navigating over, and how kind it would be to him if he needed to get low or put the big jet down, pending he had to be given control. Most of the area surrounding their target was valleys punctuated by foothills, with the exception of the Gelb Forest to the further east. The woods were also heavy around their entry point into Belka.

The van slowed down and came to a halt in front of their bomber. Martin slid open the door a d hoped out into the evening air, looking at the B-52 as the rest of his crew got out. He approached the crew chief, Staff Sergeant Houser, and cleared his throat.

"Is she doing okay?" He asked. The ginger-haired man nodded.

"Yes sir, we haven't had a single problem with her." He assured.

Martin nodded and walked towards the nearest bomb rack. As briefed, it was loaded with dark green M117 bombs of a 750 pound weight. He carefully examined the weapons to make sure they were properly attached and fused for the mission. Because of the sheer size of the B-52, he would not be able to look over every nook and cranny, and instead have to rely on the mechanics for the minute details while he made sure the machine was ready overall. The engines on his side were ready, and he couldn't see any signs of serious fatigue on the 1962-vintage machine. He turned around and began walking back towards the front.

Toby took the responsibility of inspecting the right side. The first thing he noted was that the ground crew had given "Spirit 1-1" the addition of some nose art on his side of the cockpit. A powerful-looking train engine in colors similar to the Osean flag came plowing onwards from a thick blanket of smoke, the words "Flying Freight Train" inscribed in red letters at the bottom. The whole piece had a very glossy tone. Toby cracked a smile as he observed it.

"Hey Staff Sergeant, who painted this up?" he asked as the crew chief approached him.

"Airman Davis, sir. He thought it'd boost your guys' confidence." The man said with the same expression.

"I like it, I like it." Toby said with a chuckle.

Toby's side essentially looked the same as his pilots, and after their inspection he walked towards the entrance hatch on the underside of the aircraft. He hunkered down, almost on his hands and knees because of his size, and maneuvered inside the bomber. He picked up the pace as he reached the ladder that would take him to the proper deck, grunting as he hoisted his big frame upwards. Colonel Rehl was already strapping in as he arrived and slid on his helmet, running up the B-52 so it could work on its own power. Toby went through his switches and displays as he tightened the straps. He looked at Martin, who gave his co-pilot a nod.

"Okay, start this honey up." He said. Toby nodded and started bringing the aircraft to life. On either side the engines began to whir as they were awoke and harnessed

"Roger, we're on our own power now." Toby said. His blood was pumping now as the displays and instruments also came to life.

"Okay everyone, let's get these preliminary checks done. Hustle!" Martin said. He waited to hear their confirmations, carefully sticking a photo of his family in the lip of the eyebrow window. He looked at Toby, who returned his gaze expectantly.

"Co-pilot ready." He added.

"Navigator ready." Captain Terrance Miller said.

"Bombardier ready." 1Lt. Bruce Lewicki reported.

"EW Officer ready." 1Lt. Sampson Burns assured. Martin fired up the radio.

"Bullock Tower, this is Spirit 1-1, requesting taxi instructions, how copy?" Martin asked as he checked his oxygen mask.

"Spirit 1-1, Bullock Tower, cleared to taxi to Runway 1-A; hold at the end until further instructions are given." A voice replied.

Martin released the brakes and followed an aircraft director as she beckoned the B-52 from its place and into a turn to go down the ramp towards the entrance to the runway. He glanced at the other B-52s as they waited to taxi; it made him feel like a general reviewing his troops before battle. He looked forward again and carefully maneuvered the B-52 to the right, moving carefully. The machine came to a halt as it faced down the runway, engines humming at low power.

"Bullock Tower, requesting conditions and clearance." Martin said as he lowered his visor to shield his eyes from the setting sun. There was a pause as the tower checked the weather.

"Spirit 1-1, winds blow from east to west at around 8 knots, looks like we may have a storm come through later so be ready for slick runways." The tower reported.

"Roger that, request takeoff instructions." Martin replied.

"You're clear 1-1, good luck and Godspeed."

With a breath Martin shoved the throttles on his side forward, Toby doing the same on his. The B-52 lurched forward, it's wings appearing to have the rigidness of paper as they bounced a little. Toby felt a smile curling across his face as the forces of acceleration worked their magic on them. The speedometer crawled upwards. The younger pilot constantly took glances at his pilot's stick so they could work in a coordinated matter.

"You know the drill, Ozark." Martin reminded him quickly. Toby's head snapped forward.

"Yes sir." He said.

Toby stuck his head to shoulders and kept his eyes forward as the bomber was rolling up past 100 miles an hour. As the runway end came closer, the two pilots pulled back on their control sticks. Toby felt the ground become separated from him as they cleared the runway and began their climb to 20,000 feet.

"Spirit 1-1 is airborne." Martin said…

* * *

Violet heard the low rumble of jet engines. She took up her cup of coffee and walked towards the balcony door of her condo. Once outside she looked around until she spotted a large shape as it climbed into the evening sky. The woman sighed and took a long drink from the mug, savoring the fancy decaf. The teacher ran a hand through her short head of hair and watched the large aircraft as it slowly rose above the trees and buildings.

Somewhere behind her the phone rang. She ignored it, of course, figuring that the caller would leave a message for her to hear if it was important. Sure enough the ring stopped and her voice pleasantly apologized for missing the call and asked a message be left.

"Hello, Miss Violet? This is Alicia Dawmire, Toby's brother…" A voice said. She cast a glance towards the sound.

"I'm sorry to be bothering you at this hour, but I…I wanted to say something to you…Toby told me about what happened…"

Violet felt the veins in her neck tighten as she waited for Toby's sister to say more. She took a step inside and listened, wondering if she should pick up the phone. Instead she listened more.

"…I'm not calling to tell you I'm out to get you or that I'm angry. I want to help, because I know that despite the fact my brother and you made a mistake, it doesn't mean you have to deal with more crap because of it. So if you need to come to us for help, we'll welcome you with open arms when Toby can't be there to help. Anyways Toby didn't put me up to this; I just wanted to say it. Have a good night."

The line went silent, and Violet let herself smile a little. She took another drink and felt her stomach, feeling just a little less scared.

_**A/N: As a quick note, the idea to keep the Osean bomber force out of the fighting until April 2nd (when the Belkan advance is apparently halted, especially in Ustio) came about because a bomber isn't the most effective weapon when on the defense (perhaps the only exception is a situation like Khe Sanh, but that's because they were not retreating).**_


	2. Part 2

_The Flying Freight Train (Part 2)_

_April 4, 1995_

_20,000 feet above Osea (closest city: Sarafield)_

Toby eyed his watch as midnight passed without event. They'd been aloft for a handful of hours by now, and the border was getting close, close enough that now the crew had the ECM suite in their craft ready to work. He looked over the switches again before returning to giving his map another round of attention.

"How you holding up there, Ozark?" Martin asked.

"Pretty good sir, can't even bother to be tired." He replied, glancing up.

"You can call me by my tag: TBG." Martin nodded.

"How'd you get that name, sir?" Toby asked, mildly amused.

"It stands for "That Bomber Guy". Some ANG F-106 pilot called me that after I blew past him during their annual missile exercise, Longbow, and everyone loved it." Martin replied with a wide grin.

"Way better story than how I got mine; it's just a play on my slight drawl." Toby admitted.

"Aww come on Ozark, we still love yah!" Burns insisted from his position further back.

"Haha, I appreciate it, Crispy." Toby said.

"Navigation, how far are we from the refueling point?" He added as he glanced at his map.

"About 90 miles or so." Miller reported.

Toby tried to find something to occupy his time with while Martin controlled the monumental aircraft. He was staving off thoughts about Violet and fatherhood as long as he could. He did not want them clouding his judgment or ability to react to an adverse situation. He glanced out the window by the Colonel to see if he could spot Spirit 1-2, then his own to try and spot 1-3 and 1-4. Finally he succumbed to the nagging thought and decided he'd let himself think about what was gonna happen. It was a broken record at this point, minus the details. Violet still had her own life and job, so he had to plan with her about that. He'd given damage control the bird now after telling his sister. The OAF couldn't be bothered to care since Violet wasn't a member of them, either.

"Hey, you still awake over there, Lieutenant?"

The co-pilot jolted up straight and looked over towards Rehl.

"Yes sir, you were saying?" He replied in a respectful tone.

"Wanna take the stick for a while, Ozark?" Martin asked. Toby nodded pretty quickly. It would be a good way to get his mind off things.

"Sure thing, TBG." He said, relaxing a little. The call sign sill came out a little awkwardly. He quickly decided to drop it.

The young man put his hands on the control yoke and waited until he was told he had the aircraft. He looked out the cockpit at the landscape of Osea. He could see the lights of towns and cities below. In the cloudless night, he had an almost unlimited view of the skies, at least for now. That storm still had him a little aware about their return to Bullock. For now though, the big event was hitting the rail yard, and before that getting into Belka. There was also the matter of their escort he thought as he keyed up the radio.

"Clairvoyant this is Spirit 1-1, what's the status of our refueling aircraft and escort?" He asked.

"Condor and Moose Flights are enroute, and Mason Jar is in holding pattern, awaiting your arrival." A controller aboard a single E-3B Sentry spoke up.

"Understood Clairvoyant, we'll give Mason Jar a ring in a few minutes." Toby replied.

With 70 miles to the border, they arrived at the proper refueling point. The crew heard the chatter as other jets topped off with one tanker before it left, and its relief rolled in without skipping a beat. Toby kept the stick as the radio came to life again.

"Spirit 1-1, this is Mason Jar 3-1, pull into refueling pattern, how copy?"

"Roger that, 3-1, Spirit 1-1 is pulling into refueling pattern." Martin confirmed.

He looked out the window and saw another aircraft's light in the distance. His eyes adjusted to make out the shape of a KC-135R Stratotanker. The pilot set his hands on the control stick as the junior pilot guided the B-52 towards the other aircraft. For Toby, this was nothing to sweat about; he'd refueled in mid-air before in both night and day, and it was nothing compared to what might lay ahead. He adjusted his speed and movement to fall in line behind the tanker aircraft.

"Okay 1-1; bring her down to 18,000 feet." The KC-135 instructed.

Toby carefully pushed the yolk forward and eyed the altimeter as they descended. Almost as quickly as he'd begun to he pulled back into level flight, leveling out at the proper altitude in mere seconds. He carefully adjusted the throttles to make a safe approach to the KC-135's refueling boom, turning on the FLIR camera mounted on the B-52's chin to give himself some additional assistance.

"Open the refueling door." He said.

Martin reached out and hit the proper switch. Above and behind them the Stratofortress's refueling door was exposed to the open air. The Stratotanker became bigger and bigger as the distance closed.

"Steady…steady…" the boom operator in the back of the flying gas pump intoned.

Toby went back to his eyes as he got to close to use the FLIR. He watched as the tanker made its own maneuvers to come down and ease the boom and receptacle together. It was a performance as calculated as a ballet, the two jets easing towards each other and matching moves.

"Okay 1-1, hold her there." The boom operator instructed.

Martin joined in controlling the bomber as they balanced it on every aspect of its travel from heading to speed to the stability of its level flight. The KC-135 closed the space and its rainbow-colored probe extended.

"Hold…Hooooold." The boom operator stressed.

Toby bit his lower lip and waited. He glanced down at the control panel, waiting for the green light to flick on. His eyes then snapped back towards the sky in front of them and keeping the B-52 stable. In the corner of his vision he saw the awaited signal.

"Fuel's flowing, green light." Martin spoke up.

"Roger that, green light's on for us, too." The boom operator replied.

The two aircraft held in position as they completed the transfer, precious fuel gushing into the tanks of the heavy bomber. Martin watched as the fuel gauge climbed back up towards max capacity. They were scheduled for a total fill-up, but they would get enough to maneuver and hit their target.

"Okay 1-1, you're cleared to pull away. Spirit 1-2, your turn." The Stratotanker announced as the green light went off and the boom pulled out of the receptacle.

"Co-pilot still has the plane." Toby said as he maneuvered the B-52 away from the machine. As Spirit 1-2 maneuvered into place for its fuel, the radio came to life again.

"Clairvoyant here. Spirit 1-3, Spirit 1-4, you're being rerouted to a new target. Condor 1 will escort you while Condor 2 stays with 1-3 and 1-4. Mongoose will stay with Spirit 1-1 and 1-2, how copy?" their AWACS informed them. Martin's face scrunched up in annoyance.

"Clairvoyant, can you please specify why 1-3 and 1-4 are being retasked?" He demanded.

"J-STARS just informed us of a new target of opportunity and Spirit 1-3 and 1-4 have what they need. You and Spirit 1-2 are to proceed with original mission immediately while they refuel." The controller said, getting a little more blunt. Martin ground his teeth together for a second, then grudgingly nodded.

"Roger that, Spirit 1-1 and 1-2 are proceeding with original mission."

"We've still got 102 bombs between us and 1-2, sir. I think we can level em still." Toby consoled.

"For everyone's sake I hope you're right." Martin said as they left the two other bombers and tanker behind.

"Okay, 68 miles to the border." Miller updated. Martin grunted in confirmation.

"Spirit 1, this is Mongoose 1. We are moving into position to clear you a corridor, how copy?" a female voice said.

"Roger that Mongoose, we are roughly 60 miles from the border, standby." Martin shot back.

"Roger that. Be advised Condor's hit a bit of a delay so they'll be a minute or two late, how copy?"

"What kind of delay?"

"Minor accident on the runway at Heirlark from what I hear."

Martin wasn't impressed. First he'd been stripped of two of his bombers and now the much-needed F-15s were going to be late. These were things he'd given thought but nonetheless hoped would never happen. For the moment he and is compatriots were relatively safe, but that would be just a piece of the past when they got close enough to be reached by the BAF's air defense network. He'd gotten little to no word regarding the Wild Weasels that were supposed to be making the path even clearer.

Toby, meanwhile, was feeling he was even further away from Bullock and Violet than he already was. He had no desire to try and take on whatever fighters or missiles the Belkans had set along their path alone. For a second he'd been granted a slot for F-15s or F-16s, then he'd feel much safer. He began muttering Hail Mary prayers repeatedly as he searched for some solace. Out ahead the city lights were mostly gone, and he could even see a trail of smoke or two. He checked all his gauges and displays again to make sure they were still working, even giving one or two a tap. The ECM had begun to make a less friendly sound as he was told that out in the vast expanse, unfriendly radars were watching. He wondered about Violet a little more to calm himself, hoping she was still able to sleep without him by her side…

* * *

Violet was jolted awake by the deep rumble. Her mind instantly recognized that it wasn't a jet or bomb, though; it was just thunder. Further evidence was heaped on when she saw a flash outside her balcony door. The TV was on some late-night infomercial, talking about something or another. She groped for the remote and turned off the device before slumping back on the couch. She suddenly felt very depressed and alone as she turned on a light and listened to the storm come upon Sierra Forks.

The woman curled up and hugged her legs, sniffles and shuddering breaths the only noise. She was sure this was more likely just feeling alone and still suffering from pangs of guilt, but the signs of pregnancy were bound to come rolling along soon. Morning sickness, mood swings, odd cravings. Poor Toby was probably gonna be seven different kinds of confused when she woke him up at some unholy hour to ask him to go but her some chocolate or something. She wondered if she could live on the base with him or if she'd find herself sharing her little hovel. Waking up next to him had become a wonderful thing, and a small oasis from any stress she'd ever felt.

She had known Toby for a much longer time than she'd been intimate with him. He'd been a running back for the Sierra Fork Bobcats, but he rarely said anything other than what he had to. His closest friends were his sister, whom she'd never really gotten to know, and one of the "nerds" who like him was quiet, Neil Hullen. He was a handsome guy, and Violet had always been the kind of person who liked to extend her kindness, especially to those who didn't have many friends. It was because of her he'd become a bit more talkative. They didn't really have any romance in high school with exception of a goodbye kiss before they'd gone separate ways.

From there it was a story of resurfacing attraction. Both had returned to Sierra Forks in their own ways. Violet had earned her degree and had become a teacher while much to her surprise Toby had joined the Osean Air Force. She'd never thought him the type, and his family had almost no family history (his grandfather had been a medic during the Great World War she'd learned, but nothing else). It had been chance she'd stumbled across him during a field trip to the base, and a few dates lead to what was now history.

Violet laid out on the couch again, too tired to go to her bedroom. Oh how she wished it could've been that sweet, puppy-love kind of thing a bit longer. Unfortunately things were now different, and the consequences were only just starting. She felt stupid more than anything; they both knew better! Toby had been firmly raised in a traditional Christian family that had probably told him a billion times over to save his virginity for marriage. She'd gotten the same lecture and had been able to stick to that rule through college and high school, especially when several other girls had to trade whatever career they wanted for the job of mother because some cute boy got them alone in the back of a car.

The auburn-haired woman heard the punctual splat of raindrops meeting the window and door. She cast a glance at the VCR's clock. It'd been close to five hours since she'd heard the bombers taking off. They had to be close to Belka by now…

* * *

They weren't even 40 miles from the border when the hits came onto the screen and the ECM got suspicious. It was already bad enough that their fighter escort had been delayed, but now it was even worse that they had visitors. "Slick" Lewicki frowned and secured his oxygen mask back over his face. Now came the really interesting part of this flight.

"Pilot, Bombardier, we've got two bogeys on radar. They don't look to friendly to me." He piped up.

Toby and Martin's eyes instantaneously went to their own radar display. Toby decided not to take any chances despite the IFF's lack of squawk and the ECM's warnings.

"Clairvoyant this is Spirit 1-1, we've got radar contacts at heading 090, 230 miles. Can you verify as bandits?" He asked.

"Roger that 1-1, we see em. Targets confirmed as bandits. Radar sig looks like Foxhounds." Their friend from faraway said after a minute. Toby looked at his pilot.

"MiG-31s, sir. Fast suckers, can hit about….Mach 2.8 in the right conditions. AA-9 Amos can fire 100 miles out, like the AIM-54 Phoenix. They've probably got close-range AA-8s and they've got their cannon." He said, recalling what Jane's latest edition of their aircraft guide had recorded.

"Alright then, EW dump out some chaff! Make it look like there's a whole fucking bunch of us!" Martin ordered.

"Clairvoyant, we're gonna need some help here, any friendlies in the area?" He added.

"Hang on, Condor 1 is inbound." The Sentry assured.

"Roger that. EW, is our tail jammer working good?" Martin asked.

"Yes sir, all systems are nominal." Burns assured.

Martin grumbled and cursed his superiors as the threats approached. Just a few years ago they would've had a M61 cannon in the back to defend themselves (four M3 fifty calibers if this was a G model), but now they just had some extra electronics to jam the incoming bandits.

"Pilot has the stick." Toby announced as he returned control to the senior pilot.

"We'll both have it; we're gonna need it." Martin interjected. Toby nodded and rotated the stiffness from his neck.

"Keep talking to me Ozark, how do we beat these things until those Eagles arrive?" Martin said.

"Foxhounds are designed to intercept low-flying birds like the Bone. Practically the whole reason they exist. Won't be as bad as dealing with a Navy Tomcat, but that ain't saying much." Ozark said, feeling sweat in his hair.

"Chaff is going out like a motherfucker." Burns said, keeping cool. Outside the B-52, chaff came like a blizzard from the bomber's rear section.

"Looks like one of em's going for lock, we might have to get low regardless of design or else we're a big bull's-eye waiting to be hit." Martin said as they got warnings.

"Roger that sir." Toby agreed.

They had few options at this point, and the mountains might give them a little bit of an advantage. They couldn't push the big bird too hard or else it'd stall, break its wings, etc. The lieutenant's mind was race and calculating, as was his commander's. The former may not have given the impression but he was a sharp one.

"Missiles in the air; two of em at twelve o' clock!"

Burns's call sent a shock through Toby's spine.

"Spirit 1-2, break formation and evade! Everyone else, hang on!" Martin said. The time for debate was now gone; they were going low regardless.

Toby pressed his control yolk forward in unison with the Colonel. He quickly realized that the mountains wouldn't be far enough apart to provide effective cover, and they'd just be skimming the top while the Foxhounds took more shots. It caused the sweat to pick up just a little as it slid down his face and under his mask. He felt himself beginning to breathe a little faster. But there had to be a way out of this…his mind tried to connect the dots, but they were too scared of drifting from the matter at hand to try, even if it would help them.

"Toby…" A soft voice said.

In his mind, the image of Violet came to him. She was lying beneath him, the morning after that night a month ago, when the chain of events that's lead to now had just started rolling. She was still clothed in only the sheets, with her arms above her head as she looked back at him.

"Please…Come back to me…" She whispered (though that line hadn't been uttered that particular morning). It made a confident grin spread across Toby's face. He hated to disappoint people. Her image also served th console his mind.

The two AA-9s fell for the blizzard of chaff and passed by the B-52 without so much as a thought, but the ECM told them that they weren't out of the woods yet. Martin made the disturbing observation that his co-pilot was grinning as they readied themselves for the next volley.

"You gonna say something Ozark or just sit there with a dopey-ass grin on your mug?" He demanded. Ozark cast him a confident glance.

"There's a pass, sir, near our entry point into Belka, might be big enough for us to use." He said as the altimeter spun downwards, his brain calmed by the quick vision.

"Well shit, son, why didn't you say so? Where?" the Colonel asked.

"It should be directly ahead if my map is correct, sir. I suggest we use the FLIR and Miller to check." Toby replied.

Martin reached down and activated the camera. His co-pilot took the burden of evading while he searched for the gap. He found it pretty quickly and slaved the camera to it.

"Okay, let's get low and fast. Spirit 1-2, follow us!" Martin said.

"Spirit 1-2, roger."

The two pilots brought the B-52 to the left and began to descend, more AA-9s on their way. Burns kept steady as he worked the ECM, watching the missile tracks as they came towards the two bombers. He deployed more chaff to deflect the radar-guided weapons as he felt the bomber rocketing down towards the earth. The others not in control of the Boeing product held on tight and monitored their systems.

"Miller, we on course to that pass?" Martin asked. The Bombardier glared at his displays.

"Roger that, we are approaching a pass; high terrain on both sides." He reported.

"Condor, what's your status?" Martin asked as the Foxhounds came into visual range, displaying their large intakes and pointed noses for a second before descending at the bomber. The ECM told the Oseans the threat had changed to heatseekers.

"Two minutes, we're in afterburner." The lead F-15 promised.

"We're at 8000 feet." Toby reported almost immediately after.

"Roger that, get through the pass before those MiGs get on our ass." Martin said.

Toby bit his lower lip again as the walls of the terrain came up, almost in unison with the announcement they were in Belkan airspace. Outside he could see details of the terrain flashing by. He relied on the ECM for the time, listening as the tone changed. Ahead he saw the triangular shape of a mountain appear. His CO was on it.

"Bring her up, bring her up." Martin said rapidly.

They both pulled back the yolks and screamed towards 19,000 feet again, almost parallel with the slope towards the top and eased the angle as energy bled off.

"Burns, were are those MiGs?" Martin asked.

"They passed over Spirit 1-2; they're turning around now."

Martin wished even more that they had the M61. Hell if they got close enough he could whip out his sidearm and take a shot or two! But his demands for defense were soon met by two calls.

"Condor 1-1, Fox 3!"

"Condor 1-2, Fox 3!"

The ECM became less worried, causing Martin to dare a look out his window. He saw one of the MiG's afterburners as it raced ahead of the B-52 and to the North. In the distance he saw the small twinkles and smoke trails of AIM-120 AMRAAMs. The man chuckled.

"Go get em, Little Friends." He said.

"Spirit 1, bug out towards your target. Condor 1-3 and 1-4 will escort while we bag these guys." Condor 1-1's pilot urged.

"Don't have to tell us twice." Toby agreed.

They turned the B-52 onto the right vector and waited until Spirit 1-2 was on their wing before getting down to business.

"Bombardier, distance to target?" Martin asked.

"Target is 50 miles out."

Martin gave a snappy "roger that" and adjusted the throttles on his side, Toby following suit quickly. They leveled the B-52 out at 18,000 feet and formed a standard left-sided echelon with Spirit 1-2. Condor 1, now reformed, moved above and forward of the bombers.

"There." Toby pointed out, lifting a hand and pointing almost directly north.

Out in the distance, the two pilots could see a few dots, lights. It was no surprise the city would be blacked out to make things easier for the gunners defending it. Martin was still waiting on some word regarding the SEAD they'd been promised.

"Clairvoyant, this is Spirit 1-1, any word on enemy AAA in the target vicinity?" He radioed, under toning his words with "just give me a yes or no, dammit".

"We've been told that they came through a few hours ago; did what they could. Expect there to still be resistance, though."

Martin gave a satisfied "roger that" and steadied himself. They crossed the 40 mile mark and the ECM came back to life. The Sentry gave some clarification.

"Condor 1, Clairvoyant, we've got four more bandits on our scopes. Heading 035 at 70 miles, Angels 15. Looks like MiG-21s." The E-3 spoke up.

"Roger that. Spirit, we'll draw them off you while you make your bomb runs. Good luck." The lead F-15 said as his flight broke off.

"Roger that. Spirit 1-2, what's your status?" Martin said.

"Still in position and ready to drop."

"Roger, release your internal payload first in case you get hit; can't jettison your bomb bay, yah know." The Colonel said.

"Roger that, 1-1."

The rail yard was in the FLIR's view now. Toby felt his heart beat a little faster as they closed within 35 miles. He glanced at his pilot, who was busy keeping the jet steady like him. The ECM panel was telling them both ground-based radars were present. SAMs.

"Looks like an SA-6." Burns reported.

"Das Vaterland troops?" Toby suggested. As fearsome as the name "Fatherland Division" sounded, it was the title given to B-Class reservists whom took the jobs the actual Belkan Army couldn't cover while it fought. One of these was air defense inside Belka.

"Probably." Martin offered.

Burns dumped more chaff at the scattered SAMs sitting below while Lewicki began setting up the proper prerequisites for the run. He furiously flipped switches and checked numbers. In his mind he had no regrets. The Belkans had wanted war, and now the 332nd was about to deliver 40,500 pounds worth to them. Payback really was a bitch.

"Bombardier, open the bay doors and arm the bombs. Set for ripple release, front-to-back." Martin radioed.

"Roger that, sir."

Toby began getting tense again. He blinked and reminded himself again of Violet, of Alicia. His mind simplified and rationalized his job so he could focus. He reached down and rested a hand on the throttles so they could get moving out of the area.

"Twenty miles; Opening bomb bay doors." Lewicki reported.

Toby began sending out his love to all those important to him, as did everyone. Not out of fear, but of self-assurance. When they hit 13 miles, the co-pilot saw a bright flash outside. It was only present for a second before only a black cloud remained. The same process began to happen across the sky.

"Flak." He called out, wondering if he should slide down his visor.

"We've got three missiles airborne at two o' clock! Dumping more chaff!"

Toby and Martin pushed their yolks and the throttles forward as the Gainfuls clambered up towards them. The CO of the squadron called for Spirit 1-2 to break formation to defend itself.

"Sir, we're almost on top of the target!" Lewicki called.

"Roger that, drop em! Bombs away!" Martin ordered.

"Spirit 1-1, bombs away." Toby said as the second missile lost its track.

After hours of sitting still, the clips of 750-pound bombs began their ride with gravity. They fell in a near-perfect line, fish-tailing a little as they hit the open air before continuing their fall.

"Should I switch to the pylons, sir?" Lewicki asked.

"Standby, we've got one last SAM to outsmart. Let's hope the jamming is doing plenty." Martin said.

The two pilots banked the B-52 to the left with care, their wingman following them. Toby looked out his windows for the SA-6, waiting for the shockwave or the ECM to calm down. The former came in a two-fold punch. First he felt his frame rattled as two flak bursts got a little close, then a real shake came as the final Gainful exploded nearby. Immediately assuming the worse, his eyes frantically danced over the panels for red lights. His eyes locked onto the engine panel as he heard the warning alarm. Their number three and number four engines had taken the brunt of the damage. Toby cursed.

"Number three and four are damaged! Possible damage to the flaps!" He said, letting himself get a little loud.

"Keep her in the turn, Ozark! Tell me if anything feels wonky!" Martin ordered.

"I'm not getting anything like that on my end, sir!" Toby reported.

The B-52 screeched over the city itself, two of its engines shut down to prevent further damage. Toby was practically crushing his yolk in his hands as they struggled to get things under control. Toby looked at the airspeed indicator as it seemed to be dropping. They were turning too tight for the number of engines still operational. The two pilots eased up the turn, but the speed was still going down, enough to seriously anger Toby. He hit the throttles to make sure they were all the way forward.

"Come on, yah big, gray bitch! Fly!" He snarled.

Finally the B-52's speed stopped going down and it settled into normal flight, flak bursts still dotting the sky around it as it left the vicinity. The alarms calmed down with the three and four engines out of commission. The ECM seemed to be indicating that the Das Vaterland troops below had shot their load as far as missile were concerned. Toby sucked in a long breath of oxygen before he spoke.

"Everyone alive?!" He said, still a little heavy on the volume.

"I'm kicking! Looks like one of the flak bursts got the left-side countermeasures dispenser; expect there to be additional damage to that section." Burns piped up.

"Still okay!" Lewicki assured.

"What they said." Miller reported almost immediately after the Bombardier.

"Good, everyone's alive. Congrats boys, we just flew our first bombing run against Belka and lived." Martin observed. He looked at Toby.

"You all done good by my book." He said. Toby nodded and glanced down at the controls. 62 miles to the border, he thought.


	3. Part 3

_The Flying Freight Train (Part 3)_

_April 4, 1995_

_18,000 feet above Belka (closest city: Stagvogel)_

"Yeah Spirit 1-1, you've got some hits there on the left. Looks like the engines are the worst damage. I think they're leaking fluid; might be smoke, though."

"Spirit 1-2 it seems you've taken even more dings. Your tail section looks pretty chewed up."

Martin sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"Thanks Condor 1-3, 1-1. We'll try and make it to the border and go from there." He said.

"Roger, we'll stay with you until Heirlark or our fuel state gets too low." The fighter pilot said.

Toby looked up from the panels and lights again. They'd taken down all the problems and dealt with them the best they could. The rest would be handled by the mechanics back on the ground. How long until the B-52 was airworthy again was not his department; until then he'd fly in other squadron jets.

"Okay Ozark, nothing to worry about. The Eagles will escort us out and we'll just have to be careful on the landing." Martin said.

"Let's hope it's that way, sir." Toby replied as he kept his grip on the yolk.

The co-pilot wished he could get a proper look to the rear and see what they'd done. At the very least he could know before they got shot down, IF they got shot down. The fire from the ground was dying off as they disappeared from the sight of Stagvogel's defenders and once again awoke the countryside with their tumultuous roar. Things seemed to have settled down as they were well clear of the ground-based defenses; they weren't any in this part of the country, apparently. No skin off his nose, he had enough problems at the moment.

"Will we need to divert if that bad weather is still over Bullock?" Toby asked his pilot.

"Probably; this plane would not fare very well trying to land on a slick runway in its current state. We'll check about 200 miles out." Martin assured.

The B-52 was now 32 miles from the border, but the fact that they were still inside Belk was enough to warrant attention. The E-3 watching the skies spoke up again.

"Spirit 1, Condor 1, this is Clairvoyant; we've got more bandits on radar. Looks like MiG-31s, again. Heading 080, 210 miles, Angels 21. We count four." Their friend aboard the Sentry piped up.

"Ah shit, now ain't the time!" Toby snarled.

"Stow it, Ozark! Condor?"

"We're on em, but we can't hold them for long! Burned enough gas as it is!"

"Roger that, can you stay close to us until they get close?"

"Yeah, we can try."

Toby looked at the RWR panel. The enemy radars were only present and aware of the two bombers. The MiGs were too far out to get missile off, but that would change soon. Mach 2.83, Toby reminded himself.

"Clairvoyant, how far are they now?" Martin asked.

"They're at 180 miles. Guys must be on afterburners." The controller updated.

"Roger that, Spirit 1-2, eject the rest of your payload and get low; we should be near the mountains soon enough. Try to keep Condor between you and the MiGs." Martin replied.

"Spirit 1-2, roger that. We're counting on you, Condor." The other Stratofortress confirmed.

"Radar, Pilot, jettison the bombs on the wing pylons." Martin went on without skipping a beat.

"Roger that, sir." Lewicki agreed.

The crew barely felt anything as the rest of the M117s were left to fall to the earth. There was no worry about them being captured; the M117 was as old and as unsophisticated as bombs got. In fact Toby wished they could be armed to explode when some curious Belkans tried to tamper with them. That'd be a surprise, he grinned. The man looked down as the RWR continued to beep.

"Okay, they're going for lock." He reported.

"Chaff is going out from the right dispenser." Burns reported.

"We're nearing the mountains." Miller added.

Toby and Martin handled the B-52 with care. In its state, it could sustain even fewer Gs or violent maneuvers. They began taking her down after the bombs were clear, keeping the throttles in an acceptable state. The MiGs fanned out and turned to they were directly behind the formation of egressing Osean jets. The range closed to near 100 miles, but came no closer. The RWR told the crew of Spirit 1-1 that they were being locked on to. The flow of things was pretty obvious from that point on.

"Missiles in the air, four of em!" Lewicki determined.

"How many are inbound for us?" The Colonel requested.

"Looks like we've got one aimed at us!" He reported.

"More Chaff, Lewicki!" Martin swiftly ordered.

Two of the F-15s, Condor 1-1 and 1-4, reported that they had been fired on, while Spirit 1-2 reported an AA-9 was after it. Spirit 1-1 kept up its descent, carefully jinking from side to side to spread the chaff. Toby felt a looming sense of fear as he listened in on the conversation between the escorts.

"Visual! Your six o' clock!"

"Evade, Rhino, evade!"

"I'm trying, I'm trying!"

In the meantime Toby watched as the Amos inbound for them passed by and went off towards a cluster of chaff. He took in a quick breath before waiting for another missile to come. Mayday calls flooded in.

"This is Spirit 1-2, we've been hit! We're still up but badly damaged!" Their fellow B-52 called. The escort was faring worse.

"Lead is down! Condor 1-1 and 1-4 are down! I don't see any chute from 1-1!" one of the fighter pilots confirmed.

Two of the Eagles went down in flames as the others tried desperately to counter more AA-9s with what fuel they had. Toby cursed several people as things descended into a quagmire. The idiots who hadn't given him a chance at a jet like an F-16, the Belkans, the dolts who'd deprived this B-52 of its gun, and the idiots who hadn't given the F-15 better gas mileage. He was every kind of angry for a very good reason. These Foxhound pilots were about to get easy prey by basically sniping them. The Second Lieutenant at least wanted the honor of dying with the enemy in his face. At least the chance to ram him if this was it! Martin, however, was still clinging to the chance for survival.

"Any station, this is Spirit 1-1! We are under attack by bandits near the Ivera mountains, near the border. Can anyone assist?" He called out again.

Even as they crossed the border, the MiGs would not relent. They had no reason to, Martin thought with a frown, there were free kills to be had. By now the B-52 was past the mountains and close to 8,000 feet. It bought them some breathing room for a minute. The MiGs crossed the border, now even closer, and went back to their shooting gallery. Martin repeated his call, and the radio came to life.

"Spirit 1-1, this is Buckshot 3 Actual. We are a battery of Patriot SAMs near your current position. We can assist, standby." A voice assured. Martin gulped, but nodded nonetheless.

"Roger that, be advised we're flying with another B-52 and two F-15s near us. Bandits are farther out." He added.

Martin only felt marginal comfort, however; the MIM-104 had unfortunately not been as good as first thought in this conflict. Among other "minor" incidents, the missiles had downed two Osean Marine F/A-18s. Martin didn't want him or his crew to be the next victims. One of the MiGs had turned back towards them in a do or die attempt to score a kill, closing the rest of the distance even as somewhere below Patriot air defense batteries sent off their payloads into the sky. No one saw the flashes, but the ECM changed to tell them that all but one of the Foxhounds had stopped actively targeting the Osean aircraft. Spirit 1-1 dumped off more chaff and flares as their "admirer" began firing rounds from its cannon. The tracers passed by in a swarm before Toby heard thumps nearby. They quickly stopped as the Patriot battery called out its kills.

"Spirit, Buckshot, your flight is cleared west; we've got these sons of bitches." The Army missile personnel radioed.

"Roger that Buckshot, we send our thanks." Martin replied.

"Spirit 1-1, this is Condor 1-2, we're returning to base. Good luck." One of the Eagle drivers announced.

"Okay Condor, we appreciate the help." Martin said.

"Thanks guys, we owe you all. Same to your pals in 1-1 and 1-4." Toby added.

The two F-15s went north to reach Heirlark again, while the two B-52s aimed themselves for the long trip back to Bullock and began to ascend again. Toby looked down at the panels to see if the cannon rounds had hit anything. There were no new lights, though the encounter had made the damage to the engine a little worse.

"Spirit 1-2, what's your status after that hit?" He asked.

"Ah, not good 1-1. I'm feeling some vibration in the yolk and pedals here. We may need to eject." Came a nervous call.

"Roger that 1-2, pull up ahead of us so we can get a look at you. We'll be coming in just a little closer than usual." Martin said. He looked at Toby.

"Tell me if you see anything; I have control." He nodded.

Toby returned the gesture and looked out the side, reaching for his white flashlight. He took it out and peered through the dark for the shape of Spirit 1-2. He found the jet as it trailed smoke and occasional snippets of debris. He examined the body of the jet as they got close. The B-52 looked horribly beaten; more like a scrapyard wreck that was being used for parts than a frontline machine. The beam of his light came towards the tail, which as the pilot from Condor had said bore the worst damage.

"Spirit 1-2, you are chewed up good; think you should divert?" Toby asked.

"We're looking for a proper runway now, 1-1." The other jet replied, the owner's voice preoccupied with something.

Toby shone his light on the tail again. He noted it seemed to be moving in an unusual way.

"Sir, I'd suggest we get away from Spirit 1-2; his tail looks unstable." Toby suggested. Martin looked his way.

"Are you sure?" He asked.

"Yes sir, don't want the both of us being taken out." Toby affirmed.

Martin quickly guided the B-52 away from its damaged friend while Toby kept an eye on it. The tail seemed to be moving more. Suddenly, it fell away from Toby. He saw the shape of the tailfin, along with a sizable chunk of the right vertical stabilizer, go tumbling back and downwards.

"We just lost the tail and the right stabilizer!" Spirit 1-2's pilot called. The B-52 began to shudder and descend.

"Can you get her under control?!" Toby asked, panic edging his voice.

"Negative, the controls ain't doing jack shit! We're ejecting!" Was the answer.

Toby watched as quick bursts of light went off towards the front, rocketing small objects away from the doomed bomber. Spirit 1-2, began to roll uncontrollably, smoke tracing its path to its grave. Toby tried to see what lie below, if there were any homes down there. He could get a good view, even when the machine plowed into the dirt with a cascade of fire.

"Spirit 1-2 is down, 1-2 is down! Did anyone see a chute?" Martin radioed.

"I saw a few flashes around the cockpit; probably the ejection seats." Ozark said as he looked forward again.

"We'll have to let SAR find that out. Clairvoyant, this is Spirit 1-1, Spirit 1-2 has gone down near us. Do you have a fix of their location?" Martin radioed.

"Roger, we're seeing a few beacons. We'll have SAR inbound as soon as we can." AWACS promised.

Spirit 1-1 accepted the situation and moved on alone, now in the near-absolute safety of Osean airspace. The painful realization that they'd only just entered Osean airspace sunk its teeth into Toby again. He sucked it up and wondered about Spirit 1-2. At the very least they would be in friendly territory; the point they'd gone over wasn't occupied by Belkan forces, at least not anymore. The only remote possibility was that of the locals mistaking them for Belkans. It got a scowl out of Toby. Unfortunately, he'd been well aware of those overly-paranoid idiots who shot someone who so much as looked at their property. If any of his squadmates went out like that, he'd hunt down the bastards who did it and make sure they got a surprise visit from an M117, or he'd just beat the life from them himself. Yeah, that'd be more satisfying.

The flight became as mundane as the approach to Belka had been. The damage to their jet did not increase as they kept the B-52 in a gentle path of travel, making any movements with the most delicate of touches. Toby and Martin certainly didn't want to gamble with ripping off part of their own aircraft. Every move was slower with fewer engines at their command as well.

"Do we still have enough fuel to make it back to Bullock?" Martin asked. Toby checked.

"Yeah, and then some; I was afraid we might be leaking fuel, but all the tanks are fine.

"Good."

Hours passed by in agonizingly slow segments sometime, so slow Toby found himself singing bits of various songs. He was humming "Angel From Montgomery" by John Prime when Martin got his attention.

"Let's start descent early, just to be safe." He instructed.

Toby nodded and matched his commander's movements of the yolk. The bomber began to come down from its cruise altitude.

"Bullock Tower, this is Spirit 1-1, requesting weather and runway conditions." The Colonel spoke up. There was little pause.

"1-1, this is Bullock Tower, weather is clear, runway is open. Bring her in." A voice said.

"Roger, be advised we're coming in damaged; have fire crews on standby." Martin informed.

"Understood, you aren't the first."

The crews' eyes collectively widened.

"Who's made it back?" Martin asked. There was a longer pause before the answer.

"Three jets from Spirit 2 all made it back with various stages of damage, but Spirit 2-3 was shot down. 1-3 and 1-4 have yet to return."

Martin grimaced, trying not to worry too much. Getting shot down didn't necessarily mean the end. Besides, he had more pressing matters to deal with.

"Okay Ozark, ready?" He asked.

"Ready and able." Toby replied as he tightened his shoulder straps.

"Bullock Tower, we're gonna enter the landing pattern early, we've got engines out and I don't know what kind of landing gear damage we might have. Gotta take it slow." Martin said.

"Roger that, you're cleared for Runway 3-B, no traffic in your approach."

The B-52 crossed miles upon miles of terrain as it approached the ground. Toby and Martin ran through the procedures, the most important parts of which were adjusting the throttles, flaps, and lowering the gear. Toby squinted his eyes in search of the runway lights, and spotted faint dots in the distance. Dawn had yet to come.

"Got a visual on the runway, near 12 o' clock." He said.

"Roger that." Martin replied.

The Stratofortress carefully lowered itself towards the ground. Despite the relative calm, Toby was kept on edge.

"Spirit 1-1 is on final approach." Martin said.

The ground was close enough to see details now. Trees and roads rushed by. They reached the ILS and the B-52's wheels went the last few feet to the runway. The landing felt rather rough, and the B-52 almost bounced. Toby's heart leapt into his throat for a minute. He heard the entire B-52 moan painfully as they hit the ground again. He grabbed the throttles right after Martin did, pulling them the rest of the way back to reign in the B-52's charge. The bomber slowed and they gently applied the brakes. Toby's mouth was firmly closed the entire time, and he realized as the B-52 came to a crawl, he'd been holding his breath. He opened his mouth and sucked in air, grabbing for the oxygen mask.

"Everyone still alive?" Martin exhaled as he took off his own mask and began to guide the B-52 off the runway.

"We're all here." Lewicki assured.

The B-52, emergency vehicles with it, rolled to a parking spot on the flight line. The familiar sight of ground crew equipped with light sticks to guide them. With a long, exhausted breath, Martin brought the B-52 to a final rest. He began unbuckling himself from the seat. His body felt sore, but he was too eager to get outside the Stratofortress. The rest of the crew shared his sentiments, and quickly exited the bomber. The ground crew was waiting around the exit hatch. Houser was the first to greet them, bottles of ice cold water in his arms. Toby took one and pried off his helmet, chugging half the bottle before pouring the rest on his head.

"Did you get to drop all of em, sir?" One of the airmen asked.

"I wish, we had to dump the ones of the wings to escape some Foxhounds." Burns said.

"Speaking of that…" Martin commented, looking towards the back of the B-52.

The entire crew walked towards the area where Condor had reported the damage. Even in the low light, they could see parts of the jet had been ripped away and slashed at. Chunks of shrapnel protruded from the skin of the plane. Martin walked up to a piece and gently touched it. It had been long cooled by the high altitude, but it was still jagged.

"How long would it take to get this removed and patched up?" He asked one of the approaching mechanics. The man made a quick first inspection before saying anything.

"It could take a few days sir; that engine fiasco could take even longer." He guessed.

"Get on it as soon as you can; we need every bird available." Martin said. The younger man nodded.

In the meantime, Toby had rushed to the other side to check the status of the art that Davis had made for the B-52. It was still there, though he could tell the image had been dirtied a little. He looked around, and found the young man approaching to make sure his work was okay as well. Toby aimed a finger at the piece.

"Make sure it's in pristine condition, Davis. I like it." Toby said. The man nodded and smiled.

"I'll have it done yesterday, Sir." He promised.

The men of Spirit 1-1 gathered alongside other returning crews, many of whom were either exhausted or injured. Major Bullard stuck out a hand when the Lieutenant Colonel approached him.

"Glad to see you made it back, TBG." He said.

"Hey, I couldn't let you take over my squadron just yet." Martin replied. He looked at the pilots as they sat down.

"I was informed that Spirit 1-3 and 1-4 had to divert, sir. They got ambushed by an SA-6 battery. We should be getting BDA photos on the runs a few hours from now from what I was told. Colonel Yullen says there's a debrief with him in two hours. For now we debrief within our flights." He explained. Martin nodded and looked at the other squadmates.

"Think I should give em a speech?" He asked. The Major shrugged.

"It would probably help." He said.

Martin nodded and walked to the stage, climbing up onto it. He came to the podium and cleared his throat and called the room to order.

"Well, I'm glad to see some of us made it back; despite any fears, I know you would all prevail. I'm told that the targets we'd been fragged have all been hit, and that our losses are minimal. Spirits 1-3 and 1-4 had to divert, but are okay. The photos of what we did should be arriving soon…" He began.

"You all made me proud, today. You took your big birds into the fight and you faced the odds so you could get back here again. You should all know that; I don't need to give some big speech for that." Martin said.

"For now, all present members of each flight will debrief on other details. Check the board for the next briefing time." He added before dismissing the members of the squadron.

Martin finally got home around seven in the morning. He had until one before he had to be back to help with the preparation for the next mission. For now, he wanted his people to rest and regain their strength. He found his family was waiting for him as he came into the driveway. In fact Janice was sitting in the same spot she'd been in. The teen stood up and waved to him from the porch.

"Dad!" She called. He smiled back.

"Did you stay there the entire time, Jan?" he teased.

"Yeah, even when it was night." She laughed. She ran down to give him a hug.

"I knew you'd come home." She said.

"Of course, I promised I would. Spread my wings, remember?" He reminded her. She nodded.

It was at that moment he felt a severe split inside. He realized that though he'd returned to his family, he'd returned to them having killed men. And until this war ended, that's what would happen. Every day Jan or Marcie asked him how his day was, he would have to smile and lie. He could never tell them he'd killed others, even if they knew that all too well. For a moment he envied pilots he never had to deal with this, like those aboard aircraft carriers, or those who lived away from their homes. He did exactly what he had too, and smiled. Martin then escaped into the comfort of his family. He could bury the pain through them, at least for now. He looked up as Marcie came down to hug him and opened his arms to receive her embrace. No one said anything else…

* * *

As soon as he was freed from his obligations as a co-pilot, Toby was once again in the cab of his F-150 heading to Sierra Forks. He'd made sure to leave his sweat-soaked flightsuit behind and opted for jeans and a red t-shirt. Contrary to what most would think, he wasn't tired; not a bit. He was too grateful to have survived his first combat mission and too determined to see Violet again to be tired. If exhaustion did catch up with him, he was sure she'd be happy to have him over longer.

His sister had been adamant in making sure the first person he saw was Violet. It was far from what he'd expected her to do, but he didn't complain. If she wanted him to be with his girlfriend more, it was what would happen. He pulled into the parking lot of her apartment and waited for a minute. He wondered if she would bring forth any objections to what he'd done last night. If she hadn't before, though, why would she now? Because he's actually done it? Nah, he was just nervous.

The truth of the matter was that he was still not fully able to understand what he'd just done. He hadn't even dropped the bombs or really seen the damage; that'd be viewed when photos from whatever recon jets, probably Navy F-14s, arrived at Bullock. The patriot part of him also thumped its chest and reiterated that the Belkans had found it good to attack first, and invite war to come. They would, or should, have known the consequences. He closed the door and walked towards a flight of stairs between the lower-two units. He looked up, wondering if she was awake. She was off today, after all…

Violet was, in fact, awake. She'd been spending a good part of the morning prettying herself up for Toby. Light makeup was the order of the day, nothing too heavy, alongside a nice dress that sat between conservative and showy (and still fitting despite her growing stomach, which made her realize she'd need to invest in maternity clothing soon). He deserved to come home to a beautiful girl, especially after what he'd probably gone through. The fact that he was coming to see her fairly quickly relieved her of the worry he'd been hurt. Now he needed comfort, love, and rest, maybe a nice meal, too.

She adjusted the bun one last time to make sure it was in place, then gave herself a look-over. Confident her knight in shining armor would like what he saw, she left the bathroom and listened as the familiar grumble of that old pickup he drove came to a rest somewhere outside. The sound died and Toby left the machine to reach her. Violet watched the door intently until she heard a knock. The woman stood to it and opened the entrance to see Toby standing there. A smile went across her face like wildfire.

"Welcome home." She said, taking his hands.

To say she looked gorgeous was an understatement. Toby stared at the angel before him. He'd expected a welcome, but not like this. He took her in his arms and kissed her. Violet laughed and slithered her arms around his neck. She then placed kiss after ravenous kiss on his lips, just to remind herself that they were the real lips of Toby. Her hands felt the sides of his head, messed with his hair, felt his broad shoulders. She pressed herself against him more so she could feel his body against hers, and vice versa.

"Well now, has someone forgotten we've already got one kid on the way, or is she looking for twins?" He teased, pulling away for the briefest of pauses.

"Don't tempt me, you hunky bastard." She chuckled between kisses.

He carried her inside, closed the door, and gently sat down on the couch, only pulling away every so often to make sure he was going in the right direction. They stopped kissing and stared at each other for a moment.

"You know that won't be the only mission I fly." He finally said.

"I know." She replied with a slow nod.

"And you know if you marry me, you have to adapt to the life of an Air Force wife."

"I know that, too, but I don't care if you're mine."

He smiled and shook his head a little.

"You sound mighty okay about that; most women wouldn't be too happy." The officer observed. She stroked his cheek, bringing their lips close together again.

"Because Toby Dawmire, you may not be a man from a high-class background who's gonna inherit a large fortune, or a man who has a job that won't put him in danger. But you know one thing very, VERY, well, and that's how to properly treat a lady." She said before kissing him again.


End file.
